


The Curse of the Bambino (And Other Love Stories)

by littledust



Category: You Belong With Me - University of Rochester Yellowjackets (Music Video)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-24
Updated: 2010-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-14 01:14:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/143739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littledust/pseuds/littledust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, crushes can lead you to do stupid things. Like pretend to know anything about baseball.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Curse of the Bambino (And Other Love Stories)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lexie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexie/gifts).



> A treat for you, dear Yuletide writer! I hope you enjoy dorky teenage boys with a great deal of sexual tension. Also, this scenario is loosely based on one of my actual college experiences.
> 
> For the purposes of this fic, Glasses Guy is named Devon, and Jock Guy is named Ed.

It starts with a little white lie: “Oh, yeah, I’m totally nuts about baseball. I watch it whenever I can.”

That translates to this: “Oh, yeah, I’m totally nuts about you. I’ll listen to you talk about baseball all the time, because it’s important to you.”

That becomes this: “Um, sure, I’d love to watch the game with you. What, tonight? I mean, yes, tonight.”

In the process of trying to find something suitable to wear, Devon manages to overturn one lamp, trip over a pair of sneakers, and send his glasses flying under the bed. He is fumbling around half-blind on the floor when one of his housemates walks in. Judging from the Nikes and the neon green laces (all he can see from his current vantage point), it’s Robbie.

“Who’s the guy, and how much do I have to threaten him?”

“Why would you think there’s a guy?” In retrospect, that question does not exactly help his case.

Robbie laughs. “Dude, you have your sexy jeans out on the bed. There is only one reason for sexy jeans.”

“You are the _only one_ who calls them sexy jeans,” Devon mutters, his fingers closing around his glasses at last. Once he’s wiggled back out from under the bed and slid them on his face, he can see Robbie’s expression of amusement. “Okay, fine, there might be a guy involved.”

“Might be?” Robbie asks, then shakes his ass in some horrifying straight boy approximation of getting one’s freak on. Devon covers his face with his hands, but cracks up nonetheless. “It’s that guy in our lit class that you keep making eyes at, right? The one who keeps talking sports to you for some inexplicable reason?”

“I told him I’d watch a baseball game with him,” Devon admits.

“You do realize that our knowledge of baseball _combined_ can only fill a Post-It note, right? I can’t help you with this one.”

“I bet we could fill more than a Post-It note,” Devon counters, pulling a notebook out of his backpack.

This is the list they end up with:

 **What Devon and Robbie Know About Baseball**  
1) There are four bases, one pitcher, one catcher (“Shut up, Robbie.”), bats, baseballs, and baseball gloves involved.  
2) There are nine innings. A “seventh inning stretch” is a metaphor that makes sense in context, but is hard to define.  
3) If the other team catches the ball, you’re out. If you’re tagged with the ball, you’re out.  
4) Running around all four bases is a home run. (“So is sex.” “Shut _up,_ Robbie.”)  
5) The World Series only involves U.S. teams.  
6) You need eight guys for a team. Nine? Is that for basketball?  
7) New York has two teams: the Mets and the Yankees. (“Which one do we root for?” “Dude, I’m from Philly. Neither.”)

“You are so screwed, man,” Robbie says, but not unsympathetically. “I suggest a lot of Wikipedia in the next few hours.”

Devon groans, burying his face in his hands once more. There’s a chem exam he really needs to study for, but he can already tell that hormones are going to trump academics.

*

Devon rings the doorbell right on time, wearing his “sexy jeans” and clutching his chemistry textbook. He’s going to use his desperate need to study as a cover for his total disinterest in baseball. He can feel all the information he crammed into his head sloshing around like water headed down the drain.

The door opens immediately, and Ed hustles him inside and through the hallway in a matter of seconds. Devon can hardly even enjoy the hand clasped around his arm, guiding him in the right direction, although he could probably find the steps again by heart. One of the guys calls out a hello from the living room, but they’re halfway up the stairs when Devon lifts a hand to reply.

“Aren’t we going to watch the game on the big TV?” Devon asks. Under normal circumstances, he’d be delighted to be all alone with Ed in his room, but the more people around, the less he’ll have to pretend to know about what he’s watching.

By this time, they’re in Ed’s room, and he’s carefully shutting the door. “We have to keep it down,” he whispers, and Devon sits down in a chair, starting to feel as though he’s stumbled into a conspiracy. The feeling only increases when Ed confides, “I’m a Sox fan.”

“And that’s... bad,” Devon says slowly, before his hard-won knowledge catches up with his mouth. “Because you live with Yankees fans!” That explains all the paraphernalia downstairs.

Ed looks pained. “They’re pretty good guys, otherwise. I just can’t stand to listen to them trash talk my team.”

“Why not just tell them you like the Red Sox?”

He shrugs in response, fiddling with the small TV in the corner. “Sometimes I worry too much about fitting in, you know?”

Every nightmarish day of high school is on the tip of Devon’s tongue, but he holds it back. Their friendship is still new, and he doesn’t want to upset the delicate balance with big, messy personal stories. Or big, messy crushes, for that matter, but that can’t be helped. “Hey, I’m from New York, and I’m still talking to you.”

That gets a laugh out of Ed. “Somehow, you don’t strike me as a big baseball fan.”

“Are you stereotyping me?” The question comes out more irritated than flirtatious, but maybe that’s how Devon means it.

“It didn’t seem like you were paying a whole lot of attention all those times I started talking about baseball. It kind of sealed the deal when you didn’t bat an eye when I started waxing poetic about breaking the Curse.” Ed grins at him, and Devon shifts his chemistry book to a more strategic location. Apparently his prop has more than one use.

Devon clears his throat, looking anywhere _but_ the boy next to him. “Well, um, sorry about saying that I liked baseball. I say things when I panic. Uh. Why did you invite me over, anyway?”

That earns him another heart-melting smile, which he can’t help but see. Damn it. “It’s no fun watching by yourself. I mean, you’re welcome to study as much as you want, I just--wanted to hang out with you, I guess.”

 _I would watch one million baseball games with you,_ Devon thinks, but thankfully does not say aloud. Instead, he changes the subject: “So, why the Red Sox?” He’s pretty sure that Ed only lives about 45 minutes from campus, judging from the sheer amount of weekends his mother has showed up with baked goods.

“My dad’s whole family is from Massachusetts. We lived there until I was six, actually. Also, I have a thing for lost causes, and the Sox were a pretty lost cause until recently.” From the way Ed is looking at him right now, Devon half-wonders if that last statement is supposed to be significant. As it is, his heart is pounding.

Just then, something distracting happens on the television screen, and Ed is shouting at the game, completely ignoring his own rules about being quiet.

“Worst closet fan ever,” Devon says affectionately, and opens his chemistry textbook.


End file.
